


we blend together like the colors at dawn

by bishounen



Category: Free!
Genre: Kinda Future Fic, M/M, Very domestic, Very fluffy, because they're like 27, kinda random, makoto is a man on a mission, makoto is a slightly drunk and confused man on a mission, there is also a very brief an not explicity discussed moment of alluded homophobia, there is like a tiny plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 06:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen/pseuds/bishounen
Summary: In-depth coverage of a (more or less) lazy vacation day ft. Makoto and Haruka.* * *It is absolutely beneficial that Haruka is a certified professional in handling Makoto and all of his variations, because one dessert and approximately two glasses of wine later, Makoto is amess.





	we blend together like the colors at dawn

  
  
MAKOTO  


Haruka’s body is blazing against his, but how can Makoto complain when he’s always liked holding things; especially bodies— _especially Haru_. 

He shifts to sit more comfortably, takes Haruka’s arm that rests limply in his lap and drapes it over his own, bigger body. The skin where Haruka’s upper arm and Makoto’s shoulder meet is sticky from the hot weather and sends another wave of heat to his face. He exhales deeply. 

Haruka is very much completely wrapped around him now; sitting in his lap, arms hanging loosely down either side of Makoto’s back, chin digging uncomfortably into his shoulder—like an overgrown, clingy koala baby. 

His dark hair tickles Makoto’s cheek every time the fan turns their way, and every now and then he can feel one of Haruka’s fingers draw tiny patterns though his shirt onto his back. 

Makoto wonders briefly why _he himself_ isn’t the one getting sleepy, and supposes that it’s because he’s enjoying this situation way too much. 

Turning his head to the side, he lightly kisses Haruka’s neck. Haruka’s even breathing hitches. “Are you tired, Haru?” 

It takes a moment for him to answer. “Mh.” 

Makoto’s lips trail higher, leaving kisses behind Haruka’s ear. His hands sneak under Haruka’s shirt, holding him by the waist, his skin soft and warm. “What about the beach? You think you’ll be awake enough to go later?” 

When he starts rubbing up and down his sides, Haruka drowsily giggles. It’s so light and small that it almost escapes Makoto, and he really _feels_ it more than he hears it—the slight tremble where he’s holding him. He immediately stops his hands, extremely tempted to repeat the motion. 

Before Makoto can entertain this idea any further, Haruka mumbles against his neck, “Yes.” 

_Yes to what?,_ Makoto asks himself for a second, too lost in thought, until he remembers, _Ah, right. The beach._

“Can we eat out just this once? There’s a restaurant near the beach, so while we’re already there…” he quietly asks, moving his hands up to Haruka’s shoulder blades—which turns out to be more complicated than he thought, with his shirt being so damn restricting—and probably half-undresses him while doing so. He drags his fingertips down Haruka’s back, uses his nails lightly for emphasis. He smiles when it makes Haruka’s flesh crawl, sees the goose bumps spread all the way to his neck. He exhales hotly against Haruka’s ear. 

Haruka’s body is getting even heavier on—and against—him. Then there’s another tiny mumbled, “Yes.” 

Makoto stops his hands again, this time in bewilderment. 

Did Haru just agree to eat out? Makoto has fought a fruitless battle the past five days, asking Haruka to eat out at least twenty times. He’d brought up the question again expecting another _No_. 

He picks up where he’s left off with his hands, continuing to slowly caress Haruka’s back. “Really?” he asks, just to make sure. 

Haruka needs another minute to answer. “Yes…” 

Makoto shakes his head, baffled. He’s not sure how he’s going to convince Haruka later that he’s agreed to this matter in his sleep-induced state, but he’s going to deal, somehow. If he’d known it was so easy… He should probably exclusively ask Haruka questions when he’s being like this. 

A different idea strikes him just then. 

He varies the movements of his hands, scratches a bit harder, and looks off to the side. “Uh… so… I’ve been wondering… which one does Haru like more? Mackerel… or me?” he asks, blushing. He listens to the soft buzz of the fan and the distant singing of a hundred cicadas outside of the open window. 

The fan clacks as it changes its direction. Then, as softly as before, Haruka answers, “Yes.” 

Makoto frowns. “Yes?” he echoes. Warily, he asks another question. “What is Haru’s favorite food?” 

The answer comes marginally faster this time, “Yes.” 

_Great,_ Makoto thinks. He successfully and entirely unintentionally coaxed his boyfriend into a state that slows his responsivity to a maximum while it reduces his vocabulary to a minimum. 

“Okay. Alright. That’s cool,” he sighs, defeated. 

Taking his hands off of Haruka, he slightly leans back, feeling Haruka’s weight follow and heavily press against him. He still doesn’t dislike the feeling, but it’s hot and they’re all sweaty—and as it seems, Haruka is better off in a bed right now. 

Makoto is about to gently shake Haruka awake when the latter mutters again, quietly, “… like Makoto more… but don’t tell him…” 

Makoto abruptly sits back up. Haruka sways dangerously in his lap with the sudden movement, but Makoto steadies him before he can slide off to the side. “Am I having a heat stroke?” 

As if in response, Haruka lifts his limp arms and wraps them around Makoto’s neck, hugging him tightly. 

Makoto buries his face in his neck, breathing in his scent—he smells like coconut, sweat, and something that is just so distinctly _Haru_. He decides to try again, pulls back and whispers into his ear, “Who does Haru like more?” 

“… Makoto…” 

Makoto beams. He’s not even sure if Haruka’s awake or half-sleeping—or maybe he really does have a heat stroke—but he doesn’t care. He wraps his arms firmer around Haruka, kisses his shoulder and neck until the other man stirs in his arms. When Haruka turns his face towards Makoto, blinking slowly and sleepily, Makoto kisses him right on the mouth. 

Haruka groans when he doesn’t stop. He uses one of his hands to press it against Makoto’s face and turn it away from him. “Hey… are you having a heat stroke?” 

Makoto easily grabs his wrist, kissing his fingers instead. “I really hope I am not.” 

* * *

Makoto is just slicing the last piece of watermelon in two when Haruka nudges him with his elbow. 

He looks at Haruka, but Haruka isn’t looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the TV instead, his hand with the remote outstretched as he turns up the volume—just in time to hear the lady in the weather forecast announce scattered showers for the late afternoon. Greys and whites are dominating the weather chart she’s gesturing at. 

“Oh,” Makoto says a little absently. He holds out one piece of watermelon for Haruka—who eats it right off his hand. Makoto grimaces when juice dribbles down his wrist. “You still want to go to the beach?” 

Haruka takes the rest of the fruit from Makoto’s fingers in one bite, closing the magazine in his lap with his clean hands. Makoto awkwardly holds his dirty ones in the air while he waits for Haruka to answer. 

“Of course I want to.” 

* * *

The beach is cramped despite the unfavorable weather forecast, and their self-proclaimed private spot is already taken when Makoto and Haruka get there in the afternoon. 

Haruka takes this fact with a wrinkle of his nose and a mumbled _Doesn’t matter—_ Makoto watches in subtle amazement how dark eyebrows knit together, ceases etch into skin, and lips press together in an almost pout; watches how Haruka’s face contorts into something equal parts grumpy and cute. Makoto keeps staring until a pair of blue, sharp eyes turn his way, making him duck his head and chuckle guiltily. 

When they’re in the water pitching a ball back and forth, Haruka hits the ball just so that it takes a turn to the left and lightly smacks against a young girl’s head. Her boyfriend—a big, bulky, not very mild-mannered looking guy—slowly wades through the water towards a very impassively and unapologetic looking Haruka, and Makoto has to physically get between the two to prevent the situation from escalating. 

Makoto sighs into his towel once he’s back on land and the sun shines onto his back. Haruka is still in the water, and he’s probably going to stay right there until Makoto comes to fetch him out. 

He sighs again at the prospect and closes his eyes, focusing on the noises around him: the soft laughter and conversations, the sand that gently crunches when somebody walks by, the waves rhythmically drawing in and out, the distant _thud_ s of beach balls being hit. A gentle breeze ruffles through his hair as he relaxes more and more into the towel, and eventually he lets himself be lulled into a light sleep. 

* * *

A drop of water lands coldly on his shoulder. It takes another two drops falling on his cheek right after another to make Makoto sit up in a burst of worry. 

_Rain_ , he frantically thinks, but when his bleary eyes start to focus in on his surroundings, it’s still sunny and dry. 

However, Haruka is sitting next to him, body dripping wet. He questioningly blinks at Makoto. 

Makoto falls back onto the towel with a relieved breath. “I thought it started raining. Geez.” He playfully pinches Haruka’s calf. 

“Ouch.” Haruka rubs the spot, but not before he’s given Makoto’s hand a half-hearted slap. He lies down on his own blanket, head propped on his arms and facing Makoto. 

For a long, quiet moment, Makoto stares at Haruka’s face. His cheeks and nose have already gotten a little red from the sun. “I think you’re sunburned.” 

A drop of saltwater slides from Haruka’s hair down his temple and into his eye, making him scowl and blink at least a dozen times in a row. 

Makoto chuckles at the sight and scoots closer until he’s partly lying in the sand between them. Lifting his hand to Haruka’s face, he gently swipes his thumb over his closed eye. “That’s what you get for not drying your hair, huh.” 

The comment earns him a displeased huff and a kick to his shin. 

* * *

Only half an hour later the sky goes dark so abruptly that it turns the whole beach into a battlefield-like scene of parents collectively yelling at their kids to come out of the water, of kids yelling back at their parents that they don’t want to, of cooling boxes and umbrellas being violently shut and beach towels being shaken out—until eventually everything is drowned out by the loud pitter-patter of rain falling. 

Makoto and Haruka barely have enough time to grab their belongings and don’t even bother with their clothes. They find shelter under a bus stop with a group of other people, the crowd being bizarrely quiet as everyone watches the rain gush down before them. 

Haruka presses into Makoto the fuller it gets. He’s dry now, but the air is still so humid and hot that the parts where their bodies touch immediately stick together. 

“Indoor pool…” Haruka quietly mumbles into the ambient noise. Makoto bends down because he thinks he’s misheard him, but he receives a hopeful look as Haruka repeats, “The indoor pool.” 

_The indoor pool_ is approximately five minutes down the road from the beach. They’ve been there twice in the last few days; once to check it out and then again for an event. Other than that there hasn’t been much reason for them to visit it, but now that their beach plans are cancelled for good… 

Makoto considers the expectant glint in Haruka’s blue eyes and figures that his boyfriend is deadly set on achieving his daily quota of being in the water today—be it the ocean, the rain, or the pool. 

He eventually smiles down at Haruka. “Let’s go. And afterwards, we will eat at that restaurant, alright?” 

* * *

Save for an elderly couple and a middle-aged man floating through the water, the big pool is almost entirely empty. Two staffs are talking on the sidelines and a woman is sitting on a chair, looking serenely out of the rain-stained window. 

Makoto finds that he’s too tired to swim with as much eager as Haruka. The lazy mood that had established itself with their vacation was affecting him especially now in those last few days. The dimmed lights in the room and the soft sound of rain falling against the glass roof don’t really help with that—if anything, the cozy atmosphere makes him feel even more lethargic. 

He opts for a few idle laps instead, halting at the end of the lane when Haruka does. 

Haruka has one hand on the edge of the pool while he runs his other hand down and up his wet face, pushing his hair back. “Are you tired?” As usual, he sees right through Makoto without even so much as a look. 

Makoto smiles before he dives under the lane dividers to come up in front of Haruka. “I’m awake enough for our date at the restaurant.” 

“Date.” Haruka makes a face as if the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “Why are you so caught up with that restaurant?” 

Makoto huffs out an amused breath through his nose, grinning at nothing in particular while he fishes for Haruka’s hand underwater. He interlaces their fingers and says without looking at Haruka, “Why aren’t you? I mean, you know I love your cooking, but isn’t it nice to eat out once in a while? Especially when you’re away from home.” 

When he turns back to face Haruka, he’s met with a doubtful pair of eyes. “You’re not lying. But you’re also not being completely honest.” 

Makoto rolls his eyes. Your boyfriend being your childhood friend was both a blessing and a curse. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

Haruka’s eyes earnestly bore into green, and it’s all the confirmation they both need to let this conversation pass for the moment. 

In lieu of talking, Makoto closes the distance between them, bending down slightly to plant a kiss on Haruka’s face. He’s prematurely stopped by a hand splaying itself firmly against his abdomen, right under the water where it’s basically invisible. He glances at Haruka, who is cautiously eyeing the people around them. 

Makoto gets the hint and draws back with a small smile, giving Haruka’s hand a squeeze underwater. 

* * *

All of that excess confidence comes back to trip Makoto up as soon as they hit said restaurant. 

His palms are sweating—well, truthfully, his entire body is sweating, making him tug at his collar and fan himself at least every two minutes, which has earned him a few too many concerned looks from Haruka already. 

While they’re waiting to be greeted by a waiter, Makoto wipes the sweat from his forehead, and this time Haruka outright _glares_ at him. Makoto feels like he’s going to crumble under the icy stare at any minute, spilling his plan before he can even think to act it out. He quickly averts his eyes, looking around the room instead. 

The restaurant is bordering on classy with its dark brown, wooden interior and the fervently red accents here and there, dipped into warm yellow and orange lights. The dining area is a single, huge room with tables in varying in sizes, all arranged a comfortable distance away from each other to give patrons reasonable space for privacy. 

A row of large windows covers an entire wall, overviewing a part of the beach—although by now it’s too dark to see anything outside except for the faint glow of street lamps. Over the low murmur of people talking flows the melody of a well-known English pop song that Makoto immediately recognizes. 

They are led to a small table for two, ordering water as the waiter hands them the menu cards. Makoto rubs his wet hands on his jeans before he takes it and, as an afterthought, also orders a bottle of wine. 

Haruka shoots him another inquisitive look over his opened card. They don’t normally drink—Haruka actually never—and they both know that Makoto only drinks on special occasions. Or when he’s nervous. 

“Just ignore me,” Makoto says and hides behind his own menu card. “I’m fine.” 

At the other side of the table, Haruka sighs softly. 

* * *

They both decide on _Today’s recommendation: Unajū—_ grilled eel with a side soup and pickled vegetables. It’s served with expensive looking tableware; the artfully painted bento box looks pricier than all of Makoto and Haruka’s kitchen utensils together. 

The food is great. The wine is even better. 

After he’s done with half of the course, Makoto already downed two glasses and is considerably more relaxed and disinhibited. When he reaches out to pour himself another one, Haruka shoves the bottle out of the way and gives him a sour look. 

Makoto is very tempted to memorize all the different looks his boyfriend has given him today, just so that he can recall and categorize them later. 

* * *

He’s definitely tipsy by the time they’ve neatly put their used dishes together—although it’s not nearly as bad as it could be. He still feels a little guilty for having to give himself liquid courage, but ignores the tiny pang in his chest as he alternates between water and wine. 

After he’s finished his glass of water, he excuses himself to the bathroom even though he doesn’t really have to go. 

The bathroom is as fancy as the rest of the restaurant; all whites and gold, smelling faintly of citrus. 

Instead of using the toilet, he self-consciously stands in front the huge mirror at the sinks. He breathes, slowly and deeply, staring at his red face and wonders if this is an effect of the alcohol, the temperature or the nervousness. 

“Probably some of all,” he mumbles and slowly runs his fingers over the left pocket of his jeans, feeling the faint ridges of the objects inside it. Turning on the tap, he catches a bit of the cold water in his hands and splashes his face, patting his cheeks lightly. “Today. I am going to do it. You can do it, Makoto!” 

The sound of a flush coming from one of the stalls nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He watches frozen and in slight horror as a man dressed in a black suit steps out of the stall, walks up to the sinks and washes his hands. He sloppily shakes the water off his hands and leaves Makoto and his still dripping wet face with a smile and a _Good luck, buddy_. 

Makoto swallows hard and splashes his face again. 

* * *

When he comes back, the table has already been cleaned. Only their glasses and the wine stand lonely in the middle of it. Makoto feels weirdly sorry for the objects now that their company is gone, but quickly reminds himself that he has other things to worry about. 

He reclaims his place opposite of Haruka who is busy looking at something on his phone. Makoto clears his throat. “Haru.” 

Haruka looks up at him, shoving the phone to the edge of the table—before he can withdraw his hand, Makoto reaches over and lays his own on top of it. 

Haruka’s eyes widen in surprise, and Makoto clears his throat again, averting his eyes. As though by fate, his gaze lands on the man he’s met in the toilet, sitting right across from him three tables away, and he’s looking back at him—at them—with something that Makoto identifies as disbelief and disgust. 

Even though Makoto knows that he doesn’t have a reason to, he still looks down—away from the man—cheeks coloring and feeling unreasonably ashamed. 

“Makoto?” Haruka tentatively asks, and this is all Makoto needs to regain his courage. 

“Yes,” he says and lifts his head, keeping his eyes on Haruka and Haruka alone this time. He squeezes his hand and starts speaking, “Haru, you probably don’t remember the day we’ve met each other for the first time, do you? We’ve known each other for so long that we don’t even have any memory of how it all started. All I know is that Haru’s always been there—for the past 27 years, and the memories we’ve made in those years make up for the first meeting that neither of us can remember.” 

Haruka stays silent even as Makoto pauses to retrieve a simple, white bag from his pocket, placing it in the middle of the table. 

“We’ve been together for seven of the 27 years, which is hopefully only a tiny amount of the time we will spend together in the future.” He pauses again. “I know we can’t actually marry, and I know you don’t like rings, but I still wanted us to have something that reminds us of the other and that we're together, even when we can’t physically be with each other. Not that I'm not already thinking of Haru all the time, haha…” 

“Is this…” 

“A proposal?” With one hand, Makoto slowly opens the bag. “Well, I guess, if you want it to be one.” 

Haruka curiously watches as Makoto empties the bag, revealing two similar bracelets made out of silver; one of them adorned with green stones and pearls, the other with blue ones. “When did you…” 

Makoto grins sheepishly. “When we visited the neighboring city and you went to the bathroom at the ice cream shop. Next to it was a jeweler.” 

“Jeweler,” Haruka thoughtfully repeats, and Makoto instantly knows what he’s thinking. 

“They weren’t expensive, I swear!” At least not so expensive that it was worth mentioning, although he did have to fork out a considerable amount of money for these bracelets. 

Haruka says nothing, seemingly taken with them. 

“You want to try it on?” Makoto asks and lets go of Haruka’s hand. 

If he’s had any expectations at all, Makoto didn’t expect Haruka to go for the _green_ bracelet, gently lifting it between two fingers to inspect it more closely. He seems to sense Makoto’s confusion, because a moment later he looks up, explaining, “You said ‘something that reminds us of the other’, right? Makoto’s eyes…” 

Makoto can’t stop his cheeks from going pink, and he quickly averts the attention from himself by offering Haruka to help him put on the bracelet. 

Haruka does the same for him, and when they both lay their wrists next to each other to look at the complete picture, Haruka gives him a smile that reaches his eyes, and it's by far the best answer Makoto could have gotten. 

  
  
HARUKA  


It is absolutely beneficial that Haruka is a certified professional in handling Makoto and all of his variations, because one dessert and approximately two glasses of wine later, Makoto is a _mess_. 

A cute mess, but a mess none the less. 

Makoto gratuitously giggles at the waiter as he hands them the bill on a tiny silver plate and almost pulls on the ties of his apron because he apparently finds them so fascinating. Aside from that, Makoto has their wallet, but Haruka waits in vain for him to pay the poor man. 

“Makoto,” he mutters, and Makoto finally tears his spellbound gaze from the waiter to look at Haruka. Haruka gestures wordlessly at the bill, and it takes Makoto endlessly long to get the hint. 

“Haruka,” he begins with a stern expression, but then grimaces as if in pain and says, almost mournfully, “I don’t have any money.” 

“Yes, you do,” Haruka retorts calmly, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “Your pocket.” 

Makoto vaguely pats the front pockets of his jeans and pouts. “Nothing…” 

The waiter clears his throat, “Um, I can leave you to handle this in private and come back again…?” 

“No,” Haruka says at the same time Makoto practically wails, “Don’t go!” 

The waiter politely ignores the protest while Haruka stands up and walks around the table with a silent _Excuse me_ , ushering Makoto to stand up by tugging at his arm. As soon as he’s upright, Haruka turns Makoto around so that he’s facing away from him, and eventually retrieves the wallet from his back pocket. 

When he opens it with a small _click_ , Makoto stirs next to him. “Eh? Where did you get that from? Oh… oh, _Haru_.” 

Haruka doesn’t look up, busy rummaging for small change. “Yes.” 

“You… you’re a magician.” 

Before Haruka even registers what’s happening, Makoto’s huge frame wraps itself around him. His gasp is stifled in Makoto’s shoulder as the latter turns them back around so that he’s facing the waiter. 

“My boyfriend is a _magician_ ,” Makoto happily declares to him, making Haruka blush right up to the ears. 

A couple tables away from them, a woman incredulously stares at the scene with her chopsticks half in the air and her mouth agape. She hastily averts her eyes when she realizes that Haruka is staring back at her. 

He groans and stems his forearms against Makoto’s chest, still clutching the money and wallet in his hands. This bear of a man obviously doesn’t budge even a single millimeter, no matter how much Haruka squirms in his arms. 

While Makoto animatedly keeps mumbling nonsense into his hair, Haruka eventually manages to turn them both around so that he can look over Makoto’s shoulder at the waiter—and now that he’s looking at him, the man does seem a little frightened. 

Haruka hands him the money, a generous tip, and something that hopefully resembles an apologetic smile before he starts shuffling himself and his appendage out of the restaurant. 

* * *

With the sun long gone, the air outside has cooled down considerably, yet Haruka’s ears are still pink even after they’ve left the restaurant behind—but at least Makoto isn’t literally hogging him anymore. 

They walk side by side, shoulders bumping more than usual—Haruka blames it on Makoto’s restricted motor skills—until Makoto outright stumbles into him with a quiet yelp. “Oh, _kitty!_ ” 

He’s pointing at something to the right of Haruka, and as Haruka squints into the darkness, he sees an even darker little figure sitting on the other side of the street. It is beyond him how Makoto spotted the thing in passing and in his condition when it almost entirely blends into its surroundings. 

Makoto breaks away from his side, stumbling onto the street, and Haruka grabs his wrist to prevent him from throwing himself onto the poor animal like a lion. “Makoto, _don’t_.” 

Makoto whines and looks over his shoulder at him. “… Just once?” 

Haruka wants to think rationally, so he turns away from Makoto’s obnoxious puppy eyes to look at the cat instead; it has noticed them by now, watching them curiously. He takes it as a good sign that it hasn’t run away yet and lets Makoto go, even though he knows that with the state Makoto is in right now, there’s no way in hell this situation will have a good ending. 

When Makoto squats down a little distance away from the animal, it’s all jerky and clumsy and generally _anything but_ cautious and placating. The moment he reaches his hand out, it makes him lose balance, and the cat jumps into the next nearby bush and is gone for good. 

“I told you so,” Haruka says tiredly. 

He grimaces when Makoto starts whimpering, low and painful like somebody’s physically hurt him. He stays crouched on the ground, so Haruka sits down with him. His hand covers his face, and he gabbles into it, “Everybody hates me.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Yes, it is!” Makoto says with a little more force, sniffling. “That guy from the restaurant, the cat, and you…” 

Haruka briefly wonders which guy he’s talking about before he interjects, “I don’t hate you.” 

“You do! I didn’t… I didn’t listen to you, so…” 

“ _Makoto_.” Haruka takes Makoto’s wrist and pulls his hand from his face. He cups it with his own hands, forcing Makoto to look him in the eyes. “You’re no longer allowed to drink alcohol if it makes you forget that I love you.” 

For a moment, Makoto just gapes at him, pupils blown wide in the darkness. “Oh… that’s right, Haru loves me.” He gently lays his hands over Haruka’s, smiling somewhat ruefully. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I love Haru too.” 

“I know.” 

* * *

Haruka returns to the dark living room with a bottle of water and finds Makoto sitting on the couch, gawking at the running TV and appearing a little like he’s been hypnotized. 

He puts the water down on the table and climbs onto the couch next to Makoto, arranging himself so that he can sit facing the other. He takes a minute to just appreciate Makoto’s profile, his lips slightly parted; nose curved like a slope. “What are you doing?” 

“That movie…” Makoto dazedly whispers. 

Haruka glances at the screen— _that movie_ being a popular horror movie. “You don’t need to watch that,” he says and reaches for the remote between them. 

Makoto shoves the remote off the couch without really looking from the TV. “I’m an adult now, I can handle it,” he whispers, and then, “I think.” 

The movie thing, they’ve been there before—with Makoto less drunk and more prepared—and it didn’t work, but Haruka doesn’t remind him. 

He rolls his eyes instead and crawls closer to Makoto until his knees knock into his thigh. In a single, swift movement he’s climbed into Makoto’s lap, hands fisting into the flannel shirt on his broad shoulders just as behind him a woman’s high pitched scream echoes from the TV. “Hey,” he says. 

Makoto blinks dumbly at the chest that is blocking his view, then he slowly lifts his head and blinks at Haruka’s face. “H-hey?” 

“Your fiancé hasn’t thanked you yet,” Haruka murmurs and moves his hands from Makoto’s shoulders to his neck, abruptly yanking on his collar until they’re nose to nose, “for protecting him from that hulk at the beach earlier.” 

“F-Fiancé,” Makoto repeats in awe as if testing the word on his tongue, the smell of alcohol pungent in his breath. 

“Yes, _fiancé_ ,” Haruka whispers, faintly brushing their upper lips together. 

When Makoto lifts his head in a silent request for more, Haruka pulls away. The gesture elicits a strangled whine from Makoto that sounds more like it’s coming from a man who’s been denied a drop of water after he’s spent the last three days walking through a desert. 

He eventually croaks out, "H-How exactly… was my fiancé planning to thank me, then?” 

Hearing Makoto say the word makes Haruka shudder and he decides that he doesn’t want to wait any longer, bending down again to finally, properly give Makoto his answer in form of a kiss. He starts out slowly so as not to overwhelm Makoto, which seems to bother Makoto precious little—he needily licks Haruka’s bottom lip, letting out a guttural moan when Haruka opens his mouth to let him in. 

Soon everything around Haruka blends into Makoto—until eventually all he _senses_ is nothing but Makoto; his smell, his lips, the nose that occasionally brushes his own, the taste of wine on his tongue, the one hand on Haruka’s ass and the other one that is slowly tugging his shirt out of his pants. He sighs when the hand finally slips under his shirt and hotly touches his bare skin. 

Unfortunately, Makoto breaks them up too quickly. “We should take this somewhere else,” he breathes. 

They really shouldn’t be taking this anywhere with Makoto being drunk like this, but what bad can a little teasing do? “The bedroom, then.” 

Makoto apparently has no desire to waste even a single second. “Roger. Hold on tight, Haru,” he declares, wrapping his arms around Haruka’s torso and bending forward in an attempt to lift them both off the couch. 

The sudden movement makes Haruka throw his arms around Makoto’s neck, frantically clutching his shirt. “Makoto—wait—“ 

Under both of their weights Makoto falls back onto the couch with a huff. “I’ve seen this in a movie, it _works_.” 

“Maybe not today,” Haruka says and hastily climbs off of Makoto, standing on the couch. 

“That’s a good idea, Haru! Let’s do it like this.” Makoto jumps up in an instant, swaying just a little. He stands in front of Haruka with his arms outstretched like he’s waiting for him to take a leap. 

Haruka stares. 

“I thought we already agreed that you trust me.” 

“I trust the sober Makoto.” 

“The sober Makoto is still Makoto, though.” 

None of this makes sense, but Haruka gives in with a sigh. It’s a little awkward because standing on the couch makes him at least two heads taller than Makoto—but then he’s bending down to put his arms back around Makoto’s neck, while Makoto grabs the back of his thighs and lifts him off the couch. 

“Wow, _hah_ , you’re heavy.” 

Haruka starts kissing him again to shut him up, silently praying for everyone’s safety as Makoto blindly navigates them both through the dark apartment. 

It’s somehow little surprising that Makoto doesn’t walk them into the bedroom. In his befuddled state he accidentally walks them into the kitchen instead, sitting Haruka down on the counter—and it’s only by coincidence that he doesn’t accidentally throw him into the sink. 

“ _Ouch_.” Haruka hits his head on one of the cupboards as he leans back to give Makoto an incredulous look. “The kitchen?” 

“It’s so dark!” Makoto retorts while soothingly rubbing the back of Haruka’s head. “I couldn’t see where I was going. And you kissed me—that was distracting.” 

Haruka flicks his forehead. “You’re just _drunk_.” 

“And tired,” Makoto suddenly sighs, slumping into Haruka and burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

This probably couldn’t have come to a more anticlimactic end, but Haruka wasn’t expecting anything else to begin with. “Let’s go get ready for bed, then,” he offers, patting his boyfriend's back softly. 

* * *

Before Haruka joins Makoto in the bathroom, he opens all of the windows in the apartment to let some of the cold air in. As he opens the window in the small kitchen, his eyes fall on the bracelet on his wrist. He holds it out against the moonlight, slowly turning his arm this and that way, smiling a little to himself. 

When he reaches the bedroom, he lays out the futon for Makoto. The apartment came with a double bed, but Makoto finds the bed too warm in this heat—especially with the added heat of another person’s body. It doesn’t help that he’s a fitful sleeper and ends up lying half on top of Haruka more often than not. 

Haruka has less of a problem with the heat and finds the bed generally more comfortable, so they’ve ended up sleeping separately most of the past week. 

Today however, Haruka lays his pillow next to Makoto’s on the futon. 

* * *

Brushing his teeth turns out to be too hard of a task for Makoto tonight, because apparently watching the brush go back and forth in the mirror makes him feel sick. 

Haruka tells him to just not look into the mirror then, but it only makes Makoto protest more, so he turns to him and unceremoniously brushes both of their teeth at the same time—blue toothbrush in his left, green toothbrush in his right hand. The whole procedure probably looks beyond silly, but it's not like Haruka can see himself, so that's fine. 

“Hey, how do you do that?” Makoto asks around the toothbrush, keeping his green eyes intensely fixated on a single spot near Haruka's mouth. His eyes are starting to cross a little as he's obviously trying hard not to follow any movements. “Like, your hand is here,” he reaches out and vaguely taps the back of Haruka’s left hand with which he’s brushing his own teeth, “but it’s also _here_ ,” he says while he touches the hand that is currently busy operating Makoto's toothbrush. “You really are a magician, aren’t you?” 

Haruka takes a while to contemplate if this is even worth an answer. 

“I have two hands,” he eventually deadpans, pulling back his hands and holding them up—along with their toothbrushes—between them. “Like everybody else.” 

“Oh.” 


End file.
